The Perks of Being a Beauty (8 page)

“Why not let me be the judge of my own behavior?” he asked softly. “And why not let me choose whom I wish to call friend.”

“So what you want from me is friendship?” she asked, one brow raised skeptically.

He barked out a laugh. “Hell, no. I want a great deal more than friendship. But for now it’s what I’m willing to settle for.”

“Once upon a time you were my best friend in the world,” she said with a crooked smile. “I would like to have a friend like that again.”

“So would I,” he said, slipping his arm through hers and waiting for the last strains of the dance to fade away before leading her onto the impromptu dance floor.

“Shall we risk it?” he asked, pulling her into his arms in preparation for a waltz.

“Let’s do it,” she said, smiling up at him as the other couples took their places.

By the time the music began, they were both grinning. If anyone noticed, they kept their thoughts to themselves.

*   *   *

Though she would have been loath to admit as much to the man himself, Amelia could not help but feel an inner glow at being twirled around the Smithson drawing room in Lord Quentin Fortescue’s arms. Some small corner of her heart had never stopped longing for him. And the reality of being with him here, now, and in these circumstances—while she was employed as a companion to a much richer, much sweeter young lady, made it all the more special.

“A penny for them,” he said, smiling down at her as they both kept to the steps of the dance. “If I were to guess, I’d say you’re wondering whether we might find a way to continue our botanical experiments.”

Amelia felt the blush rise from her chest all the way up into her cheeks. “I believe you overestimate my interest in…” she paused, searching for just the right word, “… in horticulture. In fact, I am quite sure that I do not care for it at all.”

“A fib if ever I’ve heard one, Miss Snowe,” he said with a smug laugh. “In fact, I’d wager that you enjoyed your foray into the art of making things grow quite a bit.”

She bit her lip. Making things grow indeed. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said pertly.

“Miss Snowe, I had no idea you were interested in gardening,” Miss Smithson said as she twirled past in Mr. Wallace’s arms. “Mama will be so pleased to hear of it. For I must admit I find it to be rather tedious.”

“Do not mistake the matter, Harriet,” Amelia replied with a dampening look for Quentin. “I believe Lord Quentin was mistaking my willingness to garden at all with a real desire to do so. I must confess that I find gardening to be tedious in the extreme.”

“Tsk, tsk, Miss Snowe,” Quentin said. “If I’m any judge of the matter, I’d say that you are merely pretending to find it tedious. There is no shame in admitting you find such things enjoyable. Indeed, I believe more ladies enjoy gardening than are willing to admit.”

“Well, I shall never be one of those ladies, my lord,” Harriet said in all seriousness. “I think it’s quite unnatural. And one gets all sweaty and damp. Not to mention the things it does to one’s hair!”

In spite of herself, Amelia felt a giggle threaten to escape her. Quentin, the devil, seemed to guess it too, for he continued to Harriet, “I do understand, Miss Smithson. Gardening can disorder one’s hair quite a bit. And one’s clothing as well.”

“Yes!” Harriet agreed, smiling with genuine pleasure. “My lord, I cannot tell you how much I appreciate finding someone who understands my reluctance to garden.”

“Well, I might understand, Miss Smithson,” Quentin said with a bland expression, “but I cannot say that I agree. Why I love nothing more than digging beneath the layers to find out just what lies beneath. I know I’ve found some real beauties that way.”

“I had no idea you were so interested in what goes on in the greenhouse, old fellow,” Mr. Wallace said with surprise. “Never thought a duke’s son would dirty his hands like that. I told Wilkes you was a good ’un.”

“A good ’un, indeed,” Amelia said, rolling her eyes. “If only they knew, my lord, just how much you like … er … dirtying your hands.”

“If only,” Quentin said, grinning. “I daresay they’d be surprised to find how much they enjoy doing so themselves with their own … uh … gardening companions, that is.”

“Naturally,” Amelia agreed.

“I cannot imagine why you find the topic of gardening so amusing,” Miss Fotheringham said, from her position in the arms of Mr. Carstairs. “I can imagine nothing as plebian as digging around in soil. It’s so … low.”

Amelia supposed that Miss Fotheringham had missed the part of the conversation where Harriet mentioned that her mother enjoyed gardening. At least, she hoped that was the only reason why the girl would insult her hostess in such a way.

Before Amelia, or even Harriet, could correct the other girl, however, Quentin jumped in. “My father quite agrees with you, Miss Fotheringham,” he said with a chuckle.

The snobbish young lady opened her mouth to praise the duke, but Quentin continued, “In fact, he is constantly trying to convince my mother to leave off her habit of rose gardening. Though I suppose doing what you please is what comes of being the daughter of a duke who then marries a duke.” He laughed and everyone but Miss Fotheringham joined in.

“It’s all very well for a duchess to declare such a pastime to be acceptable, but people in the merchant class cannot afford such luxuries,” she pressed on. “Why, how are they ever to raise themselves if they continue to labor like peasants?”

“Perhaps you should say as much to our hostess,” Amelia suggested sweetly. “For I suspect she would tear down her greenhouse should she realize just how much it endangers her family’s position in society.”

At the mention of Mrs. Smithson’s greenhouse, Miss Fotheringham finally got the point. “Oh,” she said, color rising in her face. “I didn’t know.”

“Which is why you should not make pronouncements about what is and is not acceptable behavior in others,” Amelia said quietly. “I find it best to keep one’s pronouncements to one’s own behavior. It’s much less dangerous.”

Rather than thank her for the bit of advice, Miss Fotheringham’s eyes narrowed as she scowled at Amelia.

“I think you might have made an enemy there,” Quentin said in a low voice only she could hear.

“It matters not,” Amelia said quietly. “I have already decided that she is an enemy I am quite comfortable in making.”

Quickly she told him about the little housemaid, Mary, and Miss Fotheringham’s treatment of her.

Quentin swore under his breath. “I might have guessed she’d be the sort to mistreat the servants. Social climbers are the quickest to pass judgment, and the most likely to prove their superiority through cruelty.”

“I fear you are correct,” Amelia said, watching as the dance ended and Miss Fotheringham pulled away from Mr. Carstairs and rushed from the room.

She feared that Miss Fotheringham would not let Amelia’s public slight pass without retaliation. Fortunately, Amelia was ready.

Chapter Six

The next morning arrived with enough sunshine to offset the rain of the day before. Harriet, determined that her party should be a success, insisted that the guests embark upon a long walk into the nearby village of Little Inchmore. They would partake of tea at the local inn, and later shop a little in the town’s business district, which might afford some of them the opportunity to find the next items in the hunt, everyone having received their clues at ten o’clock sharp.

Amelia, who had received a cold shoulder from every other young lady with the exception of Harriet, tried to keep a smile on her face when Quentin excused himself to speak to Mr. Smithson for a moment after they’d decided to search for their next clue in the village. Clearly Miss Fotheringham had been hard at work ensuring that none of the other young ladies, aside from Harriet, chose to confide in her for any but the most general of reasons.

“I hope we’re to leave soon, Harriet,” she said in bright voice that sounded false even to her own ear. “After being cooped up because of yesterday’s rain, I’d love to get out in the sun.”

“Really, Miss Snowe,” chided Miss Fotheringham, “you forget your place. Surely it is up to Miss Smithson to decide when we are to leave.”

But Harriet would have none of it. Stepping forward and slipping her arm though Amelia’s she said sharply, “But I treasure Miss Snowe’s opinion, I assure you, Miss Fotheringham. Indeed, she is my closest confidante.”

“Really?” the other girl said with exaggerated astonishment. “I cannot imagine trusting a servant like that.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, like a declaration of war waiting to be acknowledged.

Finally, Amelia inclined her head. “Touché, Miss Fotheringham. I am a mere servant. And I know of course how little you value
them
.” She caught the other girl’s eye. “Why only yesterday I saw you proving as much to one of the housemaids…” she began.

Miss Fotheringham, realizing what Amelia meant, stiffened. “Not that it’s any of your business, but the girl was behaving abominably. Miss Smithson, you really must speak to your mother about the quality of the housemaids she employs.”

“Isn’t Mary assigned to your room?” Harriet asked, with a frown. “She’s usually a very biddable and sweet-natured girl.”

“Well, perhaps she wished to show her independent streak before a visitor rather than to the family who employs her,” Miss Fotheringham said coldly. “I find that many servants like to take advantage of guests like that. Also she probably assumed that since I am beautiful I must also be easy to manipulate. Which is far from the case, let me assure you.”

Amelia wasn’t sure whether she was appalled more by the girl’s attitude toward the servants, or her taking it for granted that everyone thought her beautiful. It was really too much.

Before she or Harriet could say anything however, Quentin returned and spoke up. “If I recall correctly you had similar problems when you last stayed at my parents’ estate. It seems strangely coincidental that such trouble would follow wherever you go, Miss Fotheringham. Could it be that the problem is not the servants, but you?”

Since she was hardly going to correct a duke’s son on the matter, Miss Fotheringham simply gnashed her teeth and smiled. “You may be right, my lord,” she said finally. “I shall simply endure until it comes time to leave.”

“Excellent,” Amelia said, giving Quentin a large smile. “I for one am quite ready to embark on our journey to the village. Let us gather up the other gentlemen and see if they are ready to go, shall we?”

“Yes, indeed,” Harriet said, heading toward the drawing room, leaving the other ladies and Quentin to follow them.

The gentlemen were indeed on the terrace and soon the whole party was walking in a meandering line along the path to the village. To her surprise, Amelia found herself in conversation with Mr. Wilkes, whom she knew a bit from her time in London, and Mr. Carstairs, whom she knew not at all. Quentin, she noticed, had been commandeered by the Misses Hume, who were hanging on his every word.

“Tell me, Miss Snowe,” Mr. Wilkes asked as she gazed at Quentin’s back, “how on earth did you manage to become friends with the Ugly Ducklings? Especially given how much you both disliked one another. I seem to recall an incident at the Bewle ball where one of them seemed to deliberately spill punch down the front of your gown. It was quick outrageous.”

Amelia was startled by the question, though she supposed her feud with the cousins was common knowledge. Now that she had reconciled with them however, Amelia did not like to think about those years when she and her then-bosom friend Lady Felicia Downes made the cousins the target of scorn. “It took a great deal of apology on my part, Mr. Wilkes,” she said curtly. “Now, do tell me how your mama and sisters go on. I believe your eldest sister was recently married?”

The diversion managed to work for a little while, but soon enough Carstairs had picked up where his friend left off. “I was there that night at the ball when Lady Deveril’s secret was exposed,” he said with some relish. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a room fall so deadly silent as it did that night. I will never forget it. And poor Lady Deveril just continued dancing. I thought it was quite brave of her, actually.”

“It was quite brave,” Amelia agreed. “Lady Deveril is one of the bravest people I know. And that includes most gentlemen of my acquaintance.”

Quentin, who had fallen back to join them, caught her eye. Some silent communication passed between them before he said, “Spoken like a lady with her own brand of strength.”

“Well, I prefer it if ladies leave all the bravery bits to the gentlemen,” Carstairs said sullenly. “If they go about being brave on their own account, where does that leave us? We can hardly wave our handkerchiefs in the air and wait to be rescued.”

“I should like to see you try it,” Wilkes said with a laugh. “I can just imagine Miss Snowe charging into the castle like Joan of Arc with her sword blazing to rescue you from some ne’er do wells.”

It was an amusing image and they all laughed. Even a sheepish Mr. Carstairs.

“Even so,” Wilkes said once the laughter had died down, “it must have been difficult for the Ugly Ducklings to forgive you. I mean, you were the reigning beauty and you—”

“I think we’ve discussed the matter enough, Wilkes,” Quentin interrupted. “I don’t see what good it does to continue to discuss what is now ancient history.”

“I don’t mind talking about it,” Amelia said with a crooked smile. “It’s the least I can do now that we are friends. I owe it to them to tell the truth of the matter. Though I do not like it that you continue to paint them as victims, Wilkes. They would not thank you for it. And I must ask you to cease referring to them as the Ugly Ducklings. It was a foolish nickname that stuck. That’s all.”

“Well, I think it’s jolly good that you may count them as friends now. Though I wonder why none of them offered you a place with them when your mama died and left you without a home. I should think the duchess at the very least has room enough for you in one of her houses.”

Amelia was saved from answering by the group’s arrival at the edge of Little Inchmore. It really could not be called much more than a village given the high street consisted of four establishments on each side of the dirt track. They split into their scavenger hunt pairs and agreed to meet at the inn, the Fox & Geese, in a few hours.